Scatter
by Tiruneko
Summary: It's a funny thing to think about, what you'll remember when your old. Are you going to remember that one argument you had with your mother about how your outfit? Are you going to remember that one cute guy in your class you never had the nerve to talk to? Are you going to remember that time when you found your big sister's body hanging in the closet? Who am I kidding? Course not.


**Eh-em. Let me introduce myself. Tiruneko here with another story. There isn't much to say yet but a few disclaimers, such as the obvious, "I don't own vocaloid blah-da-blah-da-blah." But I have a couple warnings with this one. This isn't going to be a light story. Not light in the sense of it's creepy and bloody like my others, but it's deep and melancholy and deals with heavy stuff. So, a few disclaimers. This story includes some side yaoi. If that's not your thing, don't worry, no judgement. It also includes mention of suicide, alcoholism, self abuse, and drug abuse. ****The language isn't gonna be light either so watch out for F-bombs. I think that's it (so far). Anyways, thanks for reading, as always. **

**~_Tiruneko ;3_**

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Scatter

_Entry One-_

_Something extraordinary happened today. _

I scribble along listlessly in the mahogany covered, spiral notebook while I sit in the back of the class, mind on nothing. Well, nothing _real. _The words I form are beauty, a masterpiece, a child. They are my life. Without them I am nothing. My life becomes another monotonous memory soon to fade to nothing in the spectrum of my existence and this day becomes nothing more than a vague memory of a sour taste in my mouth or a general deduction of _"wow I hated school" _from this tiny snippet of a moment.

It's a funny thing to think about, what you'll remember when your old. Are you going to remember that one argument you had with your mother about how your outfit made you look like a boy? Are you going to remember that one cute guy in your class you never had the nerve to talk to? Are you going to remember the specific feeling of sitting alone at the playground as a junior in high school with nothing but a book you've red twenty times and a flat can of Sprite? Are you going to remember that time when you found your big sister's body hanging in the closet?

Yeah—right. Like any omnipotent being in charge of existence would be nice enough to bleach that image from my head. An image of Jesus in an ambulance shouting for _"brain bleach!" _is worth putting down, I bet.

The pen moves.

_Yes, something extraordinary. Even more wonderful than having a fresh jar of brain bleach hand delivered by Jesus himself. _

Yeah… yeah—that'll do.

I like to pretend that when I write, there's always someone leaning over my shoulder, enjoying the story. Enjoying my lies. That'd be nice. It'd be nice to know I could entertain a person, even if they turn out to be imaginary. Anyways, back to the story. They're teetering in their seats, the readers, that is, they're just _dying _to know what it is that was so extraordinary.

_Len Kagamine spoke to me today. It was marvelous. His voice is like honey and Lord those eyes… the things they make me think of with just a look! That __**boy… **__the epitome of sexy. He's the extraordinary. Do you know what else, what makes it even better than just his voice? He's taking a job at the store. Can you believe it? _

That is not a lie _(thank you omnipotent-merciless-brain-bleach-lacking-being. At least you've given me this!). _Well, not _exactly. _I had loved Len Kagamine. I had for a very, very long time. Since the fifth grade, probably. We used to be so close. Then we moved into Junior high and—well, Len got a girlfriend. We went from being best friends who shared everything _(even occasionally clothes—what can I say? It's a known fact men have comfy shirts)_ and who would call each other at three in the morning because they had read something terrifying and couldn't sleep, to acquaintances who barely spoke. I really liked Len's girl at first, she was a pretty, quirky, beautiful and charismatic blonde named Rin.

They looked fairly similar except Rin had lighter hair, freckles, and her eyes weren't quite the same. She was also significantly shorter and had a smaller and sharper nose while Len was tall, lanky, and all kinds of impale-me-on-a-stick-'n-drop-dead-Romeo-style-_gorgeous._ They made a cute couple and the three of us hung out together quite often. Then it just started to slowly fade away.

The last time I had ever spent a whole day with just me and Len was the day I found my sister. After giving my statement and heading to an empty and freezing loft to call my mother who was out on an international book-store convention on the opposite side of the world that her beloved, scholarship endowed daughter had hung herself up like a rag doll in her bedroom closet with a pretty pink noose made from a pricey handbag, I found myself opening the door instead. Len was there, his cheeks red, his eyes wide and puffy, and his chest heaving, still in pajamas. He had _run _there at seven a.m. I didn't even say anything. I didn't need to.

I spent that day in his arms, crying so hard that it hurt until I would pass out, only to wake up and cry again. He was sitting there, holding me like a scared child for that awful phone call and he was there until my mother got back two days later and stayed even after that because my room was so _empty _now and we hadn't had time to remove my sister's bed and I couldn't stop glaring at it as if the whole thing was its fault.

But things change and so did Len. Rin became his world. School gossip followed them like it was cupid and they were a real-life Romeo and Juliet without all the death, confusion, and betrayal.

So when, about four months ago, Len had come to my mother and I's book store to beg for a job, it sent a pang of white hot anguish through my entire body like a physical force that nearly knocked me to my knees.

The first few weeks were awkward. Painfully so. I had gotten quiet over the years and Len had gotten… well… Len. I never really stopped watching so I never saw the changes in him like he did me. It didn't matter, after a while, though. I still loved him so much it ached and having him closer was the only possible remedy. The world just felt so right beside him.

It was about a month before we could speak to each other without any awkwardness. It was around that time when I asked about Rin. Len shut down instantly, like I had hit his literal off-switch.

_Bye, bye, Lenny _like he was a robotic person I was shutting down.

I didn't push and he didn't tell. All was well.

One day I noticed this devilishly attractive pink-haired boy that even rivaled Len's good looks stroll inside the store. Len noticed too. Len did _more _than notice. Len _drooled. _I could've sworn when Pinkie-pie checked out, he winked at Len and the blonde's whole body turned crimson.

The boy, who I later learned was Yuuma, became a regular. He was a real nice guy, very lax, very chill, but someone who was at the same time, incredibly intimidating. He was built but not buff or uncomfortably heavy set and his height… the boy was a freakin' giant. And he made Len light up like a Christmas tree in a Hallmark movie. We all got pretty close after that. Turns out Yuuma's little brother died from cancer. We bonded over dead-siblings. Go figure.

Mom was gone all the time now-a-days. She took on extra jobs to help pay for the building's rent and new apartment and when she wasn't doing that she was somewhere shady getting banged by a sleaze bag probably ten years older. I let Yuuma and Len sleep over. A lot.

One of those very same nights Yuuma had stayed over late to watch an old horror movie with her and Len, a massive rain storm hit. There was no way I was going to let him walk home in that, so he stayed over. I went to shower before bed and when I came back into the living room I saw something I never expected to see.

Len with his face cradled in Yuuma's hands, getting tongue raped and _loving _it. Len came out to me that same night. I had already known about Yuuma.

Just like that the remnants of my heart shattered and were scattered around the bitter parts of me in a million tiny little that doesn't really matter. Not too much anyways. I still have my baby. My notebook. I don't need Len to love me—I know he does, just not in the way I'm dying for. I don't _need _Miku to still be alive and I don't _need _my sociopath mother's love or my father's identity, I'll never need any of those things.

Because I can _make _them.

It doesn't matter if people are what I want them to be because I can make them that way. I'll color them up nice and pretty with my words and my lies until I'm happy.

I deserve that.

Don't you think?


End file.
